Dear Mother of the Fat Pig,
It was a real pleasure sitting near you and your family today on the plane. You and your seemingly deaf husband are obviously gifted parents. He is skilled at being oblivious to your practiced moping, grumping, and ranting at your only offspring, whom you so affectionately refer to as “Fat Pig.”
I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. In fact, I was trying not to hear your earth-shattering, soul-crushing diatribe directed at your sobbing young daughter. The way you scolded her for eating would make a grown man cry, let alone your 10 year old with obvious mother-inflicted eating issues. Do you know why she was asking for food? Because other than when you call her a fat slob, the times you give her food are the only times she gets any of your attention. And because eating is the only way she can ease the pain of being overweight, and the pain of having a mean, belittling woman for a mother.
How successful do you think this little girl will be at maintaining a healthy diet, exercise, and body image when she grows up?
Maybe if you had a shred of self-respect or self-awareness of your own poor health and obesity, you could embark on a learning journey together toward health and fitness as a family. Instead, you are guaranteeing that your weaknesses become your daughter’s weaknesses, that your pain becomes her pain, and that your life disappointments become hers, you fat pig.
A Concerned Traveler.